


Mr Turner & Mr Norrell

by Nefertiti_22002



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, Great artist meets great magician
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefertiti_22002/pseuds/Nefertiti_22002
Summary: Mr William Turner requests permission to visit the Abbey ruins on Mr Norrell's property. Misunderstanding a remark by Childermass, Mr Norrell conceives the notion that Mr Turner might secretly be using magic to achieve his paintings and decides to investigate.This fic takes place in the universe of "Master and Man," which traces the entire period of John Childermass' time in the employ of Mr Norrell, from Childermass' point of view. This episode takes place during the decade-long ellipsis in Chapter 3, a period during which the Man of Business grows increasingly impatient with his master's seemingly endless delay in declaring his revival of English magic to the nation.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	Mr Turner & Mr Norrell

Late one June morning in 1797, John Childermass was going through the newly arrived mail. As usual, there was nothing that required his master’s attention, and he dealt efficiently with the bills, notifications, and book-shop catalogues that had arrived.

Mr Norrell was sitting at his desk, making notes on the strengths and weaknesses of a spell he had performed a short time earlier. It had been a success, and yet he thought he could devise some improvements by doing some further research.

In short, it was the sort of typically quiet, dull day that irritated Childermass. It gave him time to fret at the idea that Mr Norrell still showed no signs of planning to go out into the world and announce the return of English magic. Indeed, he seemed quite content to plod through every single one of his magical books, testing the spells and tinkering, as he was now, with the ones that were effective and useful.

Useful for what? Childermass wondered, since none of the spells ever seemed to be used in a way that would aid the nation and bring his master fame and he himself a more eventful existence. They would both be old and grey by the time his master finished reading all his books—and there were new additions coming in at frequent intervals.

It was just as he was ruminating over this lack of ambition of his master’s part that he read a letter quite different from the others he had dealt with. The name signed at the bottom seemed familiar, and he thought for a moment, trying to remember where he had encountered it. He rose and crossed to a small rank of shelves where he kept his own books and those he had borrowed from Mr Norrell. He pulled down a small brochure, glanced through it, and let out a soft, “Well, well” as he realized that his vague memory had been correct.

Ordinarily Childermass made as little noise as possible during his perusal of the mail, unless it was to come over to his master’s desk to show him a particularly important missive.

Inevitably Mr Norrell looked up and said, “What is it, Childermass? Something I should know about?”

“Not exactly, sir. It is simply another of those requests from an artist who wishes to visit Fountains Abbey. The ruins of the Abbey itself, that is, not your house.”

“Yes, well, I suppose you can, as usual, grant my permission. But why speak aloud? I am quite distracted from what I was thinking about.”

Childermass took no offense at Mr Norrell’s peeved tone. He had quickly become accustomed to his master’s irritability.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I was startled by the fact that I recognized the name of this particular artist. A Mr William Turner.”

“How do you come to know of him? Is he from Yorkshire?”

“I don’t believe so. About a year ago, when I was in London buying books and conducting other business for you, I took the opportunity of some spare time to visit the annual exhibition of the Royal Academy of Art. Most of the work on display was the familiar sort of English painting, well-done but rather conventional and uninspired. One painting, though, showed a small fishing boat on a rough sea at night. I was struck by how like reality the waves looked—something I know well from my time as a sailor. It was a rough sea, and there was a bright moon peeping out from dark clouds, lighting up the waves and turning them blue and green against the otherwise black water. I had never seen anything like it. I think the other visitors felt the same, for they clustered around it. It was by this same Mr Turner, as I have just confirmed by checking the list of artworks in the exhibition.”

“I had no idea that you had such an interest in art, Childermass.”

Childermass smiled with amusement. “Sir, I have read nearly all of the books on the history of art in the non-magical section of the library—the books you allow me to read without obtaining your permission,” he added, wanting to make it clear that he was not stealthily impinging on the magical library. “Mr Turner is too young to figure in those books, especially as that part of the library has not been added to in some years—”

“No, not since my uncle’s death. I have a great deal to read as it is.”

“No doubt, but I would wager that Mr Turner will feature prominently in future books on the subject.”

“Then no doubt you will not hesitate to leave me in peace and give him permission to come and view our famous ruins.”

Childermass indeed did hesitate in doing so, saying. “Sir, I would very much like to meet the man responsible for that painting. Might I invite him to stop by the house when he arrives, for a brief conversation before he commences his sketching?”

“Yes, yes, if you wish,” Mr Norrell replied, with more than a hint of impatience in his tone.

Mr Norrell was about to turn back to his note-taking when Childermass chuckled. “Perhaps you would also wish to meet him, sir. I read some reviews of the exhibition, and one commentator remarked that Mr Turner’s work seemed as if it were accomplished through magic.”

Mr Norrell frowned. “Do you mean to say that he might actually use magic to create paintings so superior to others?”

Childermass laughed. “I’m sure the critic was speaking metaphorically—simply suggesting that Mr Turner’s talent is remarkably far beyond that of the other artists whose work was on display. As I said, I quite agree.”

Mr Norrell dithered for a moment before replying, “Nevertheless, you have made me quite uneasy. I believe that when you have your conversation with Mr Turner, I shall join you. One cannot be too careful when it comes to the possibility of other people doing magic, as you well know.”

Childermass certainly did well know Mr Norrell’s fear of the existence of other magicians. He had long chafed at his master’s refusal to teach him anything beyond the simplest of spells or allow him to read any but the most elementary of the magical books. He also had been ordered on a few occasions to investigate rumours of someone else practicing magic. Although some of these suspect people had professed to be magicians, none had in fact turned out to be practicing actual magic. Once Mr Norrell got it into his head that someone else might be a genuine rival magician, however, there was no talking him out of his worries. Childermass shook his head slightly in exasperated amusement.

After some thought, his master added, “That an up-and-coming young artist who is in the public eye should practice magic makes it all the more dangerous.”

“Very well, sir. I shall say that both of us would appreciate his stopping at the house when he arrives.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

A few days later the appointed time arrived, and Mr Norrell awaited Mr Turner in his library, while Childermass paced slowly in the large entry hall. When the bell rang, he opened it to find a short, somewhat stout and distinctly plain young man without. He carried a small bag and a sketchbook. He stood under a large umbrella, since it has been raining for some hours and seemed likely to go on doing so.

“Mr Turner, I presume. Come in, sir. Welcome! I am Childermass, Mr Norrell’s Man of Business. It is good of you to take the time to visit us briefly.”

“Not at all, not at all! My pleasure.”

Mr Turner paused at the threshold, awkwardly trying to shake the water off his umbrella while juggling his other possessions. Childermass stepped forward. “Allow me, sir,” he said, relieving Mr Turner of the umbrella and placing it in a box reserved for such purposes. Mr Turner thanked him and wiped his shoes many times on the rug inside the door. He then set down his bag and book on a chair and curiously surveyed the room, seeming to take in every detail, especially the artworks.

“I see that Mr Norrell is a collector of the Dutch school. It is one of my great hopes to help develop a strong, modern approach for English painters and bring some of the glory now reserved for the artists of the Continent to our own country.”

“I have no doubt that you will succeed, sir. It is not Mr Norrell, however, who collected these paintings. He is more devoted to old books than to old paintings. It was his uncle, I believe, who collected them, or perhaps that gentleman’s forebears. This way, sir, up these stairs to Mr Norrell’s library.”

Childermass showed their guest into the library and introduced him. He noted that Mr Turner was only slightly taller than Mr Norrell, who had stood up to shake his guest’s hand. He suspected that his master was trying hard to be genial in order to lead up to his inquiries about the artist’s supposed magical practices.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Turner. May I offer you some Madeira-wine, sir?”

“That is most kind of you, Mr Norrell, thank you.”

The two men were seated as Childermass poured the wine, including a glass for himself, and served them.

Mr Turner sipped his wine appreciatively and said, “I am grateful, sir, for your permission to make some sketches of the Fountains Abbey. You must receive quite a few requests of that sort, given how many views of the Abbey I have seen in galleries and people’s homes. Indeed, such views were part of what led me to embark upon this tour of the north, making some sketches of the notable sites. I was most impressed by Kirkstall Abbey, but I understand that Fountains Abbey is even more picturesque. I gather that, apart from artists, many tourists come to view it.”

“Quite a few, yes. They, however, enter through a gate nearer the ruins. That way I do not need to see or hear them, which would disturb the solitude necessary for my studies.”

“Indeed? Then I am grateful that you have taken the time to welcome me, Mr Norrell.”

“Oh, ordinarily I do not invite the artists who come to draw the ruins to visit me here. But Childermass tells me that you are quite a remarkable painter, especially for someone so young as yourself, sir. He saw some sort of sea painting of yours at an exhibition.”

Childermass, not wishing for Mr Norrell to dominate the conversation that he had arranged largely for his own benefit, said to Mr Turner, “Your ‘Fishermen at Sea,’ sir. Last year at the Royal Academy’s exhibition, I was extremely impressed by your depiction of the ocean in moonlight. I worked as a sailor for a time when I was about fifteen, and that was the sea as I have known it. If I may ask, how old were you when you painted it?”

“Twenty years of age then, and twenty-one when it was exhibited. Twenty-two now.”

“Remarkable!”

“Thank you, Childermass. It was my first oil painting exhibited at the RA.”

“You must be a great lover of nature to have captured the sea so well.”

“Yes, I enjoy nothing better than being out in nature a good deal and travelling—as I am now. This is my first tour of the north of the country, and I am finding Yorkshire and the surrounding counties a treasure-trove of extraordinary views. The south and the west of the country have beautiful views as well, of course, but the landscapes here are quite different.”

Mr Norrell said, “Childermass also tells me that your work is so remarkable that some critics attribute it to the use of magic. Can that possibly be true?”

Mr Turner laughed. “No, sir. It is simply hard work and a good eye and memory. I had the advantage of some expert teachers at the RA’s school, and much encouragement from my father and friends. I must say, I am curious as to why you would ask such a thing.”

“It may seem odd, but I am … well, a theoretical magician. I have studied the great magicians of the past diligently, and I am always on the lookout for signs of real magic being practiced. After all, it did exist once here in England, and hence it might return, even in a small way.”

“Ah, I see why you are curious. Someone practicing actual magic would be a momentous event, would it not? After all, as I understand it, magic has not been done in England for … oh, a long time, I forget how long.”

Mr Norrell sighed. “About three hundred years, yes. A long time indeed.” He hesitated and went on, “But if you could by some fantastical quirk of fate learn to paint aided by magic, would you do so?”

Childermass suspected that his master was still not completely convinced that Mr Turner not was secretly using magic and was pressing the point to probe him further. He rolled his eyes.

Mr Turner looked rather dreamily up into a distance that only he could see. “No, Mr Norrell, I believe that if I somehow were to be offered a magical spell that could help me paint, even if ‘twere to create some extraordinary new effect never attempted before, I should prefer to go on as I am. To me, discovering new technical means of applying paint or of creating illusions of depth on a flat surface are challenging and rewarding goals. The chief joy of my work comes from attempting to catch the qualities of sunlight or moonlight or fire, or of the movements of waves. I sketch views over and over and then try to capture the sublimity of nature on the canvas.”

Mr Norrell had listened with a growing smile and said enthusiastically, “Oh, Mr Turner, I understand perfectly your attitude! That sense of patiently achieved discovery is a joy for me as well. Going through a magical spell, revising, casting it again, revising again, until at last it works perfectly. It is a process that I never tire of.”

He paused to find the two other men staring at him. Childermass stared with a surprised and somewhat worried little frown, while Mr Turner stared with equal surprise, but of a bemused and curious sort.

“Magical spells? I thought you said you are a theoretical magician, sir. Is what you describe wishful thinking, or have you in truth successfully cast long-lost spells?”

There was a brief and awkward silence as Mr Norrell swallowed and glanced over at Childermass, but the man shrugged, as if to say there was nothing he could do to take back or alter his master’s impetuous revelation.

Finally, deciding that there was nothing he could do to explain his remarks, Mr Norrell said nervously, “I hope I may trust, Mr Turner, to your discretion concerning what I am about to say.”

“Most certainly, sir.”

“You see, I am in the process of studying to be a practical magician. I have been doing so for the past nineteen years now, and yet the subject is so complex and often mysterious that I do not yet feel I have reached the stage of revealing my abilities to the world. In a few more years, no doubt, I shall reach that stage and announce that magic has returned to England.”

Mr Turner had listened with a combination of fascination and skepticism. Now he glanced at Childermass as if hoping for some indication as to whether his master was a trifle touched in the head or had really achieved a certain expertise in the art of magic.

Childermass said earnestly. “There is no doubt that Mr Norrell can successfully cast magical spells, sir. I have worked for him for nearly seven years now, and I have seen him do so many times. As he says, however, that is so far a secret known only to us here at Fountains Abbey, and we trust to you that, apart from you, it will remain that way.”

“Oh, assuredly. You have my solemn word. I … well, I wonder, Mr Norrell, if you would mind doing a little piece of magic for me. It would be an enormous privilege. I am greatly curious about the world, and this is something I am never likely to encounter otherwise.”

Mr Norrell paused, debating with himself. He glanced once more at Childermass, who gave a slight nod.

Mr Norrell could remember few occasions on which Childermass had expressed admiration for someone so enthusiastically. Moreover, Mr Turner seemed to be almost like he himself, someone who had dedicated his life to gaining enormous skill in his own field of difficult and specialised endeavour. Perhaps the effects of the Madeira-wine also played a part in his decision, for he threw caution to the winds and determined to grant Mr Turner’s request.

“Oh, but what should I do, Childermass? I do not have any ingredients for a complicated spell. I have been going through some new books lately, Mr Turner, and I did try one new spell this morning, but I believe it still needs revision—and besides, I have used up the necessary ingredients. I had not planned on performing any further magic today.”

“Sir, many of your weather spells require no ingredients. Mr Turner might appreciate your stopping the rain for the duration of his visit.”

Startled, Mr Turner looked back and forth between them. “Can you indeed do such a thing, sir? That would not only be marvelous magic, but it would help me greatly in my task.”

Mr Norrell smiled. “Nothing could be simpler. Of course, I do not stop the rain often, since the farmers who are tenants on my land would not be best pleased if I thus affected their crops. For a day, however, it could hardly hurt them, and if I can be of service to you …”

Childermass chimed in, “Apart from that spell, Mr Turner, my master could provide any sort of cloud effects you wish as a background to your sketches of the ruins. Even a sunset, if you thought it ideal, though that would certainly puzzle the tourists who are no doubt wandering about the place. We do not want to call local attention to Mr Norrell’s magical abilities.”

“Astonishing!” Mr Turner turned to Mr Norrell. “If you can do such a thing, sir, I would be most eager to witness it. Would you be willing to stroll over to the ruins—after you have stopped the rain, of course—and allow me to give you some indications of what sorts of clouds I would appreciate having beyond them?”

“I would indeed oblige you, sir. I usually take a walk once a day, though seldom in that direction, what with people likely to be viewing the ruins.”

With that settled, the three went downstairs into the entry hall. Childermass held the front door open. Mr Norrell, unwilling to say a spell that Mr Turner might hear, stopped at the foot of the stairs and whispered the spell. In an instant the rain stopped, and a weak sunlight replaced it.

Mr Turner stood staring for a moment and then turned to his host. “My dear Mr Norrell, this is truly overwhelming. You are indeed a magician, and what a magician!”

Mr Norrell came forward with a smile on his face such as Childermass could not recall seeing there. It suggested that for all his secrecy, his master was proud of his accomplishments. If he could be persuaded finally to go to London and announce his abilities to the world, he could enjoy such praise frequently. Perhaps Mr Turner’s visit would inspire him to do so. Childermass certainly hoped so.

Mr Turner went to pick up his bag, notebook and umbrella. The latter was still dripping wet.

Childermass said, “Mr Norrell, sir, you might dry Mr Turner’s umbrella while you are at it.”

Mr Norrell again whispered a brief spell he had invented for such circumstances, though he embellished it somewhat so that the water left the umbrella in a myriad of tiny droplets that swirled about in the air of the hallway before leaving through the open door and disappearing.

Mr Turner shook his head in amazement. “What a life your servants must lead, with such tricks as that to lighten their work!” He chuckled.

Mr Norrell stared at him, puzzled. Childermass cleared his throat and decided to head off any further conversation on the subject.

“Shall we go, gentlemen?”

Mr Norrell having changed into some old shoes for walking in the rain-soaked grass, the trio left the house and walked along the path toward the ruins, which stood beyond a thick stand of trees beside the Hurt River.

As they went, Childermass finally had a chance to question Mr Turner further about his painting techniques and learned of his hopes to visit Italy once Napoleon was finally defeated. Clearly he felt that Mr Norrell’s magical assistance could aid the military in reaching that happy day.

Mr Norrell took advantage of the opportunity to take note of plants alongside the gravel walkway that might be called for in magical spells.

When they reached the ruins, they found a few tourists wandering about.

Mr Turner rubbed his hands together and remarked, “Excellent! Tourists won’t notice some changes to the sky, but if an artist were already at work, he would definitely notice. We might even ruin his composition!”

After walking here and there to get a sense of the best places from which to sketch the ruins, Mr Turner returned to Mr Norrell’s side and pointed at a gap between the tower and the standing walls of a roofless building nearby.

“Those rolling hills in the distance. Would it be possible to place a thunderstorm there and have it stay in place for a few hours?”

After questioning Mr Turner about the details of the storm, Mr Norrell stepped aside a short way and murmured the spell, extending it considerably to specify that it contain all the characteristics that the painter had mentioned—including identical bolts of lightning that recurred at regular intervals.

For a few minutes nothing happened, but as Mr Turner and Childermass were about to remark on this fact, Mr Norrell held up his hand, signalling that they should wait. At last a thunderstorm became visible in the far distance, slowly moved to the hills indicated and stopped there.

Mr Turner grinned and shook the magician’s hand enthusiastically, saying, “Perfect! A marvelous complement to the ruins. I thank you, sir, most heartily!”

Mr Norrell nodded graciously. “I am happy to have been of service, sir. I apologize for the slight delay, but I thought it best not to startle the tourists, or anyone else in the neighbourhood, with a storm suddenly popping up out of nowhere. Thus I commanded it to start very small at a distance and grow as it approached its current position.”

“Very sensible,” Mr Turner replied.

Mr Norrell and Childermass watched curiously as Mr Turner laid out his sketching materials and notebook on a convenient block of stone that had long-since fallen from the building—after Mr Norrell had magically dried it off for him. Once he was finished, he turned back to them.

“This has been a most fruitful and astonishing visit, Mr Norrell. I am grateful to you for your kindness in imparting your secret to me and demonstrating your talent in such a dramatic and useful fashion. By gad, Mr Norrell, I should take you along with me on my travels. You smooth my way quite marvelously and arrange for atmospheric effects that I might await for hours, often fruitlessly.”

Mr Norrell shook his head. “Oh, I am quite your opposite in that, Mr Turner. I am a very poor traveller. I love nothing better than to stay at home and practice my skills, which will take a deal of time yet.”

Mr Turner nodded. “Of course, I was simply joking. As I said, I prefer to accomplish my paintings by my own skill and the vagaries of the natural weather. Moreover, you belong here, undoubtedly, until you feel ready to reveal your talents to the nation. In the meantime, you have been so kind that I would like to send you one of the watercolour drawings of the Abbey which I will be creating once I return to London.”

“Thank you, sir. I would be delighted to have a sample of the artistry that Childermass has praised so highly.”

Mr Turner went on, “I know little about magic, but I would say that you have already become a fine magician and could announce yourself to the world at any time. How old are you?”

“I am thirty-two.”

“Quite old enough, I should say. I believe one should start early if one wishes to make one’s mark in the world. I hope you will forgive me for boasting, but I exhibited a painting of mine in the Royal Academy of Art’s annual exhibition at the age of fifteen and have been exhibiting there ever since.”

“Good Lord! When did you start painting?”

“Oh, longer ago than I remember. I was already drawing incessantly as a small child of three or so, according to my father, who has aided and encouraged me a great deal. Indeed, he sold my youthful watercolours out of his barber shop starting when I was about eleven or twelve.”

“Oh, but I became devoted to magic only at the age of thirteen, so you had quite a head-start on me,” said Mr Norrell. “And magic depends on reading a great deal and taking notes and putting one thing together with another. As you have seen, I have an immense quantity of books to go through. I imagine that with each drawing or painting your skill improves, while when I finish mastering one magical spell, I must start at scratch again with the next. Some spells teach me a great deal about magic in general, and I progress. Others, however, are satisfying in themselves but tell me little or nothing new about magic. And I must say, I had very little encouragement from the uncle who raised me. It was not until his death a decade ago that I was able to devote all my energies to learning magic.”

“I see, and I respect your patience and perseverance. Nevertheless, do not, I pray, wait much longer to announce your abilities to society, sir! Not only would it be a momentous thing for magic to return to England, but I suspect that such spells as the one you have just performed could provide precious assistance to our forces in the field.”

Childermass said to Mr Turner, “I quite agree, sir. I have often mentioned to Mr Norrell the advantages for our side in the conflict were he to offer his services to the nation.”

Mr Norrell sighed, “I still feel there is more work to be done before I take that irrevocable step. I assure you, however, that it will happen.”

Mr Turner looked around. “Well, I should begin work here and take up no more of your time. I am most indebted to you for everything, including permission to sketch the Abbey. Oh, and what about the thunderstorm? Will it disappear on its own? I hate to inconvenience you to the extent of having you come all the way back here to cast a counter-spell of some sort.”

“Oh, it will be no inconvenience. A little while before sunset I shall cast such a spell, but I can do it from my library.”

“I see. Well, thank you again. And you, Childermass. If you ever have the occasion to visit the Academy exhibition again, I trust you will let me know in advance, and I can take you around the galleries. Even if you come when the exhibition is not on, I could show you what I have lying about in my studio. A letter addressed to the Academy will always reach me.”

The two walked a short distance but paused and looked back, ready to wave farewell. Mr Turner, however, had already taken up his notebook and pencil as eagerly as Mr Norrell returned to a book after being interrupted.

“That reminds me, Childermass, that I have some note-taking to finish before lunch. This has been a most pleasant interlude, but I must deal with the revisions of that spell.”

They walked back toward the house, with Childermass inwardly wondering when he could manage to arrange another business trip to London.

NOTE: The Raven King’s army conquered Northern England in 1110 AD. In 1132 he built the large Fountains Abbey complex on what much later would be Mr Norrell’s land. He soon, however, abandoned it to make Newcastle his seat of rule. The Abbey remained an active religious site for 407 years, however, until it was dissolved in 1539 by Henry VIII. It gradually fell into ruin until in the reign of Queen Anne some of its buildings were dismantled and the stone used to build a large house, also named Fountains Abbey.

The extensive property was inherited by Mr Gilbert Norrell, Esq., in 1887 upon the death of his uncle. According to Susanna Clarke’s definitive history of the magical doings of Mr Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, the latter became fascinated with magic at age thirteen (1778), when he found a loose page of a magical book inserted into a completely unrelated book in his uncle’s library. Given the mysterious magical events that occurred in early 1817, leading up to the disappearance of the two magicians and of the modern house at Fountains Abbey in the Tower of Darkness that had cursed Mr Strange, it has been suggested that the page of magic that inspired Mr Norrell was left there for him to find by none other than the Raven King, John Uskglass. This hypothesis is based upon Mr John Childermass’ statement that he had been told on good authority that the two were “the spell John Uskglass was doing.” Thus the page of magic might have been part of the execution of that spell.

[Clarke’s history changes the name “Fountains Abbey” to “Hurtfew Abbey,”](https://nefertiti22002blog.tumblr.com/post/141511751100/fountains-hall-clarkes-real-inspiration-for) based on the name of the river that runs through the property. Presumably her motive was to prevent the Fountains Abbey ruins, already a popular tourist attraction, from being overrun by the flood of magicians who appeared in England after Norrell and Strange’s disappearance. Such people would be all too likely to break off and take away bits of stone from the ruins, being convinced, possibly with some justification, that some of the Raven King’s magic lingered in them.

Mr J. M. W. Turner, England’s greatest painter, kept his promise and sent Mr Norrell a watercolour view of the Abbey’s nave, which eventually disappeared, along with Sir Thomas Lawrence’s portrait of the two magicians and older valuable artworks, when the Tower of Darkness moved the house to an unknown destination.

Mr Turner also kept Mr Norrell’s secret until the spring of 1807, when the magician moved to London and announced that he was indeed a practical magician. Mr Turner followed with considerable interest Mr Norrell’s use of magic during the war against Napoleon—especially since the termination of those hostilities allowed him and other artists to visit the Continent on sketching tours.

He confessed late in his life that one of his greatest regrets was the fact that he never saw Mr Norrell’s famous rain-ship illusions and thus was unable to paint them.

ANOTHER NOTE: J. M. W. Turner did in fact visit Fountains Abbey in the summer of 1997, making many sketches of it. (See Franny Moyle’s _Turner: The Extraordinary Life & Momentous Times of J. M. W. Turner_, p. 126. She does not mention the visit to Mr Norrell, probably because Turner kept Mr Norrell’s secret so faithfully that he never mentioned the event in writing, even after Mr Norrell’s rise to fame.) That such a visit occurred is known only because a brief note from Turner to Childermass was recently discovered in the archive of the latter's papers.

Much later, when the [BBC adapted Clarke’s book, they followed her wishes that the scenes at “Hurtfew Abbey” be filmed at Fountains Abbey.](https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/2y60xGs7C1QpyLkx4zBpcPl/where-was-jonathan-strange-mr-norrell-filmed) The modern house, of course, had disappeared in 1817, but the award-winning special effects department recreated the exterior of the house digitally, while the scenes in the library were filmed nearby at Kirkwell Abbey, which Mr Turner mentions having visited just before Fountains Abbey.

[“Fishermen at Sea,”](https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/turner-fishermen-at-sea-t01585) so admired by Childermass, is now in the Tate Museum. It was part of a huge bequest of his own works—nearly 300 oil paintings, around 30,000 sketches and watercolours, and about 300 sketchbooks—left by Mr Turner to the nation after his successful attempt, almost single-handedly, to revolutionize English painting.


End file.
